February 7, 1889 #3
“Oh, I can hardly believe it. I almost forgot the Sherards! They spend most of the year in Devon, from what I understand, but always winter here in Bath. The father passed away several years ago, and the eldest son is set to be the next Baron Sherard once their uncle passes. You can see him there. I don’t recognize the younger gentleman with them.
You don’t think . . .” Maureen gasped. “There are two younger eligible Sherards. I think that might be one of them!”
Mira suppressed a smile. Byron scanned the room, hopefully looking for her. She took a step away from Maureen and the tree, taking out her fan. Now, what was the proper way to beckon a gentleman to approach? She was always forgetting these things. She would have to ask Liza for a refresher.
Fortunately, he caught sight of her, eyes brightening as he moved over to her, taking her hand.
“Miss Blayse,” he said, kissing the back of it.
“Mr. Sherard,” she said, her smile breaking free. “How are you enjoying the program?”
“Oh, very well. I understand that the lead violinist, Mr. Heinrich, is in fine form this evening.”
Mira nodded and turned towards Maureen, whose wide eyes betrayed her shock, though she wisely kept her mouth shut. “Miss Harris, may I introduce you to Ambrose Sherard?”
“How do you do, Miss Harris,” Byron said, dipping his head.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Maureen said, with a slight curtsy. “Are you staying long in Bath?”
“A few weeks, I believe. Perhaps a bit longer. Are you enjoying the recital?”
“Oh yes,” Maureen gushed. “Mendelssohn has always been a favorite of mine. I wish the whole program was only his music.”
The crowd began to move back to the main room. Byron held a hand out to Mira. “Might I escort you back?”
“Of course.” She bid a still shocked Maureen farewell and walked with him back to the recital room.
“You seemed deep in conversation with her,” he whispered.
“She was informing me of the social climate.”
“Gossip?” Byron raised an eyebrow.
“That as well.”
“Good. You’ll have to tell me about it later.”
***
It wasn’t until the conclusion of the program that Mira had the opportunity to be reintroduced to Byron’s family.
The lingering crowd meandered out of the main room to partake of refreshments.
The Sherards stood on a raised platform a little away from the tables, observing the scene.
Every so often one of them would make a comment to another, but for the most part they remained silent.
Like cathedral statues gazing down on the populace.
For as much as Byron insisted he didn’t take on a persona with his family, he seemed to be standing straighter than usual, and betrayed none of his usual expressiveness.
Somehow, that made her even more nervous.
Liza came to her side. “Are you going to go talk to them?”
“I don’t even know what I’ll say. Is it appropriate for me to approach without invitation?”
“Mr. Constantine is courting you. Isn’t that invitation enough?”
“I suppose.”
Liza laughed. “And here I thought that between you and Walker, you were the more level headed one.” She looped her arm through Mira’s. “I’ll come with you.”
Mira shook her head, pulling away. “I can do it.”
She crossed the floor, weaving her way around the various conversation groups. Upon her approach, Byron stepped away from his family and came to meet her.
“Good evening, Miss Blayse.”
She gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, Mr. Con—Mr. Sherard.”
Byron gave her a soft smile. “Are you ready to meet my family again?”
“I’m not sure I will ever be ready.”
“You’ll do splendid.”
He offered his arm and they returned to the Sherards. His mother stood between Mary and Castel. She wore a dark blue ensemble with large sleeves and swathes of fabric crisscrossing over her waist. A single strand of pearls adorned her neck.
“Good evening, Mrs. Sherard,” Mira said, once again curtsying. “Did you enjoy the performance?”
Byron’s mother considered her and gave a short nod. “It was a good array of pieces. I appreciated the Massenet especially.”
“Oh yes, the violin solo was excellent.”
“It’s unfortunate you had to leave so abruptly after the Mendelssohn section,” Mary said. “Are you unwell?”
“No, thank you,” Mira said, cheeks heating.
“Oh, good. I was so worried that you had consumption after I heard that coughing fit in the hall. That wasn’t you, then?”
“I-it was.”
Byron stepped closer. “It doesn’t particularly matter, Mary. As you can see, she is perfectly fine now.”
Castel smirked. “Yes, I suppose if it was tuberculosis, she wouldn’t be so flushed.”
Mira’s shoulders tightened as she attempted to retain what little grace she had.
“Thank you for asking after my health. I am well. I simply had a tickle in my throat during the performance. And you know how difficult it is when you ought not to do something, and feel inclined to do it anyway.” She turned back to Mrs. Sherard.
“I wish to apologize for my conduct earlier this week. I assure you, that is not my usual state.”
“We shall see, won’t we? One’s true character tends to show itself over time.” Mrs. Sherard opened her purse, removed a card from it and handed it to Mira. “You will come to brunch tomorrow.”
Mira took the card, glancing at the swirling calligraphy. “Thank you. I will.”
Mrs. Sherard snapped the purse closed. “Good evening, Miss Blayse.”
Byron lingered for a moment after his family started to leave. He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You did well.”
She let out a shuddery breath. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“Yes, well, Mary can be a bit difficult at first.” He kissed her hand. “I wish we could talk more, but I think I had better keep up appearances.”
“We can talk tomorrow.”
He smiled and turned away, following after his family. Liza came to her side.
“That seemed to go well.”
“I’ve been invited to brunch tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s good isn’t it?” Liza grinned.
Mira shook her head and whispered, “You didn’t see how she looked at me.”